


breaking wits in the name of love

by gearyoak



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, other characters show up, they say like one thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:22:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearyoak/pseuds/gearyoak
Summary: “This ain’t gonna be a thing, Shimada,” the gunslinger said firmly.“Of course not. It is over, and I have already won.”McCree’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you have.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Trashy_Lost_Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Trashy_Lost_Soul/gifts).



> ay yo wassuh dudes
> 
> [muddabooshit](http://muddabooshit.tumblr.com/) prompted prank battles. hopefully this delivered in the funnies.
> 
> ps I had no idea what to tag this as. that's always a good thing to see, right? the author of a fic is like 'look man I got no idea what I'm doin here'. also that title??? i don't rlly know what it means

It had started over time and because of pancakes.

The lounges in the old watchpoint had never been lacking. Some had large TVs, most had at least three couches, and every single one had a mini fridge. Only one, however, had a kitchenette attached to it and it just so happened to be across the hall from McCree’s bunk.

The others joked and called it the ‘Honeymoon Suite’, and – if McCree had to admit it – he would honestly say that was an understatement. It lacked the emptiness of a hotel room; decorations and personal belongings filled in the spaces that the issued couch and chairs didn’t. There was an old lamp sat upon an end table that Ana had brought from home. One of McCree’s serapes was draped across the back of the couch, like a decorative blanket. An old handheld gaming system had been set on one of the kitchenette’s counters. In their free time, this is where they found themselves gathering to.

It was his and Genji’s home within their home, a bit of domesticity McCree didn’t know he had craved. Sundays were his favorite, their day off. No debriefings, no training, no missions, nothing. They could spend their day together, in the Suite. McCree often chose these mornings to actually _use_ their kitchenette for something other than tea and coffee. He woke up around eight to get an early start, ignoring Genji’s tired groans of displeasure, and made his way across the hall to figure out what they would be having. He always gave it about ten minutes before the cyborg followed him, grumpy and unhappy with the empty bed.

This morning they had decided on pancakes – the instant kind where they just had to add water. McCree left that up to Genji while he found a suitable pan, sending him off with a bowl and a whisk. The cyborg took it with an aggravated huff, pulled himself onto the counter, and mixed the powder in as he grumbled. McCree turned away to get the butter from the fridge, and so Genji couldn’t see him laughing. For as long as he’d known him, Genji had never been a fan of mornings but he also wasn’t shy of letting people know it. From the moment he woke up until about two hours before noon, he didn’t stop complaining and somehow it managed to be endearing. McCree didn’t mind waking up early too much, but it did take about two cups of coffee before he could even manage a word.

Reminded of it, he leaned over to check the coffee pot and was relieved when the ‘Add Water’ light didn’t blink at him when he switched it on. He had a nasty habit of not keeping up with that, and making the three-step trek over to the sink would have been tedious. Exhausting. Yawning, he placed a mug under the pot and thanked his past self for being so kind to him. Or maybe Genji; he was known for small gestures like that.

The thought of the cyborg brought the silence to his attention. Quiet grumblings had lessened to nothing without him noticing. McCree turned away from the coffee pot to see Genji staring into the bowl blankly, no longer stirring. He _couldn’t_ have messed it up. Sure, the poor thing was a mess in the kitchen, but this was just water and mixture. There was no way he could have ruined it.

“What’s th’ matter, Chatty Kathy?”

Genji jerked his head up at the sound of McCree’s voice, obviously having been lost in thought. After a moment, he shook his head and focused back on the bowl. McCree gave him a minute.

“Cake is good,” he began slowly, “as is cake batter. Cookies are good, as well, and so is cookie dough. Pancakes are good . . . “ He trailed off, his statement lilting up in a question.

McCree raised an eyebrow. “Give it a shot.”

Lifting the whisk, he examined the off-white liquid that dripped off it. The butter in the pan began to sizzle, so McCree never got to see the initial reaction when he took the first lick. After the heat was lowered and the noise diminished, he turned back to Genji and found him relatively unchanged. His expression was still blank and he was even nodding a bit to himself, but his eyes were fixed on a spot in front of him, glazed over.

“You doin’ alright there, darlin’?”

“It is just flour,” the cyborg announced, hardly letting McCree finish his question. “It is just wet flour, Jesse.”

“It sure is.”

Genji pushed the bowl off to McCree, nose scrunched up in distaste until realization dawned on him. “You knew this? And you let me try it rather than just tell me?”

McCree laughed out loud then, couldn’t help himself. Genji’s pout deepened. “Well, y’know, you learn more from firsthand experiences, and all. Couldn’t let myself deprive you o’that.”

“I could have gone living the _rest of my life_ without experiencing it.”

The pancakes were still decent, but Genji remained grumpy well past twelve in the afternoon.

 

)(

 

On days that weren’t Sundays, their mornings went a little different. Their schedule varied and usually called for them to leave their rooms before 7am, so breakfast in the Suite was impossible. McCree woke up and barely had enough time to shower and get dressed, let alone cook and clean whatever they’d have. Genji had a much easier time getting ready for his day, and could very well sleep in until he absolutely needed to be awake. Still, he found himself crawling out of bed and across the hall to switch on the coffee pot each morning.

Over the years Genji had perfected his cowboy’s preferred coffee type, not that it had been hard. He took it black with two sugars, and had taken it that way since Genji had known him. It tasted horrific, and he was sure McCree didn’t even like it himself, but the smile it earned him when he passed McCree a warm mug was reason enough to never question it.

When the machine made its rasping, groaning noise as it heated up, Genji looked around the cupboard for his favorite cup. It was a classic ceramic mug with cacti printed along the rim and a cartoon desert landscape as its design. He’d found it in an old thrift shop during a recon mission and had immediately thought of McCree, said ‘To remind you of home’ when he gave it to him. McCree had laughed, set it in the sink to be washed, and kissed the top of Genji’s head. ‘I am home’ was what he said in return, because his cowboy had been –  and always will be –  a large sap.

The mug was missing, not among the others in the cupboard. He looked toward the sink where a few dishes were still resting, and probably will remain until later that evening. Sure enough, the cup was sat amid yesterday’s mess, on top of a familiar bowl filled with milky water. Genji scowled as the memory of the morning prior returned to him, along with the taste of the infamous pancake batter. Turning away from the sink, he reached for a plain cup and set it under the coffee pot.

 

)(

 

The door to the Suite had slid open not five minutes after that. McCree tiredly made his way over to the kitchenette, hair damp and fully dressed bar his signature hat. He accepted the cup of coffee like he always did: silently and with an appreciative smile. Genji watched him take his first sip with a smile of his own, unable to hide it.

McCree caught a look from the corner of his eye. “G’mornin’, darlin’.”

“Good morning,” Genji replied without missing a beat. “How does that taste?”

“Fine,” McCree answered slowly, a tad unsure. He looked down at the cup in his hands. “I guess. Why you askin’?”

“Just wondering.” A pause. “Nothing’s wrong with it?”

With that, McCree’s careful expression broke and he grimaced. “I _knew_ it,” he hissed, dumping out the contents of the mug. “What _was_ that?”

“Salt,” Genji told him proudly. McCree stuck his tongue out and made a noise. “Tell me, does it taste better or worse than pancake batter?”

As he rinsed out the cup, McCree rolled his eyes. “Is that what this’s about?”

“You betrayed my trust, Jesse,” Genji told him, tone mocking seriousness. “I will not soon forget it.”

“This ain’t gonna be a thing, Shimada,” the gunslinger said firmly.

“Of course not. It is over, and I have already won.”

McCree’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you have.”

 

)(

 

Through the day, Genji always manages his schedule just so in order to fit in time for meditation. It works out well enough so he can make his way down to the practice range and blow off whatever pent up energy was leftover; the unease in his muscles that could only be sated with a blade in his hand.

He stops by the Suite to retrieve such gear and McCree is there to greet him with his usual sunniness. He was hunched over their small table, revolver in pieces in front of him with a cloth in hand. Once the _daishō_ were secured on his back he was gone again, but only after saying farewell to McCree.

“Goodbye, darlin’! I love you, Genji!” He was practically yelling at the cyborg, a big grin on his face.

It was infectious, as Genji found himself smiling behind his visor. “I love you too, Jesse,” he replied through a soft chuckle, and the door slid shut behind him.

McCree was clearly in a good mood, and the idea of missing it almost made Genji want to skip out on training. It wasn’t often that the cowboy was this cheery; not that he was usually bad company either. McCree was more of a quiet presence; silent and steady no matter the situation. But, like this, he was louder, more jovial than sarcastic, and almost playful. It reminded Genji of when they had been younger; when the only reason he laughed had been because of McCree.

Athena lit up once Genji stepped through the threshold of the practice range. Her logo was displayed on each screen, but her voice only emitted from one of the speakers closest to Genji.

“Welcome back, Agent Shimada.”

He continued on until he was in the center of the empty room, each floor panel lighting up as he walked across them. “Yo.”

“Please choose your simulation.”

Genji rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his neck. “I would like to be done with this quickly,” he stated.

“Acknowledged. Randomizing.” Athena paused for a moment and Genji waited for her patiently. “Simulating: Eco Point Antarctica. A.I.s: Level Five. Time Limit: Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Genji repeated to himself with a scoff.

The panels that make up the room shifted in color until he’s no longer in the watchpoint in Gibraltar, but at the notorious lab in the arctic. The snow that gathered along his feet crunched beneath him as he moved, and he was sure if he were more human he would feel the cold chill to match the scenery. Training simulations had always been realistic, Overwatch wanting to make sure their agents were accustomed to performing in any kind of climate.

The whirring sounds of training bots pulling themselves together spurred Genji into action. He reaches behind himself in an easy motion, unsheathing his blade quickly and smoothly. As he attempted to slip into a more comfortable stance, the sword nearly flew from his hands when he twirled it to sit better in his grip. Just barely catching it before it could do so, Genji suddenly became aware of the weight; too light and ill proportioned. Finally, he looked down at the blade, already knowing what he would find.

A Nerf sword. What he held in his hand was a custom-made foam sword.

Three rubber bullets pelted him in quick succession, two in his chest and the third pinging off his visor. Despite the force of the shots, Genji’s eyes never strayed from the foam he held on to with a grip so tight, it began to collapse into itself.

“Defeat,” Athena’s voice rang out, louder than the annoyance buzzing in his head. “Updating Monthly Records. February: 37 completions, 1 failure.”

He thought back to McCree’s chipper mood, the smile he gave him as he left, and tossed the Nerf sword to the side.

“ _Jesse_ . . . “

 

)(

 

A lot of things could be said about Genji Shimada, and one thing that has rang true to this day was that _competitiveness_ was hardwired into his being. The only thing McCree had proven with his sword-swap stunt was that he had a determination Genji could whittle down. He had to admit it to himself, though, the time and effort McCree put in to finding a website that would customize nerf swords to fit his _kaya_ perfectly was admirable. And to have it done so fast? He can attest to McCree’s own resolve, but he would never beat him. Genji’s pride just would not allow it.

It’s how he found himself stalking the unused bunks of the watchpoint, scouring through each room for a working Overwatch Issued alarm clock. When he passed Lena in the halls on his way back with a trash bag full of them, she didn’t question it.

“Working hard, Genji?” She asked. An eyebrow was raised and there was a mirthful glint in her eyes.

“Expect nothing less,” he replied, and Lena didn’t need to see the cyborg’s face to know that he was smiling.

 

)(

 

It’s two o’clock in the morning when the door to the medwing slides open, and when Doctor Ziegler saw that it’s Genji entering the room concern overwhelmed her current exhaustion.

“Genji,” she greeted. “Are you well? I would have guessed you would be asleep by now.”

“I am fine.” His tone was even, and gave away little to what he could be thinking. “Would it be too much to ask if I can use one of the vacant beds?”

“Of course not, Genji, but,” she trailed off, shaking her head minutely.

It wasn’t a strange request in the slightest. Gibraltar’s climate had not been kind to the abandoned watchpoint. With no one stationed in the facility to keep up with maintenance, most of the rooms were practically unlivable. It had taken weeks alone to clear out what bunks they had, and it had been just enough for the few agents that answered the recall. So, when driven out by an odd smell or the sounds of scuttling, they took refuge in Doctor Ziegler’s lines of hospital beds.

Still, if Genji had deemed their bunk unsuitable for sleeping in that night, the gunslinger would have surely followed. She eyed the pillow tucked underneath his arm; large and stuffed into a faded red pillowcase. One of McCree’s. “Are you two . . . in a fight?”

A laugh bubbled from Genji’s chest, one that Doctor Ziegler could only describe as _hysterical_. “Not _yet._ ”

 

)(

 

The first alarm went off at 2am.

It was 2:04am when McCree finally realized it wasn’t _his_ clock that jerked him awake. Four minutes of staring and pressing every button he could think off that would turn the noise off. Unplugging it was what finally brought him to the ‘This is Not the Right Clock’ conclusion. He sat up, blearily looked to his right to see if Genji was hearing it as well, but there was no Genji there. McCree made a noise of deep confusion, and wondered if he could fall back asleep with the noise blaring from somewhere in the room.

It was 2:07am when McCree finally pulled himself up from the bed and searched for the source. He found the clock stuck in between the dresser and the wall relatively quickly. After it’s unplugged and vehemently dropped to the ground, McCree fell back into bed.

The second one goes off at 3am, and McCree found it on the floor of their shower.

The third one goes off at 4am. The pattern was not lost on him, and as he pulled it out from under their bed he knew he should probably search the room for the others. But McCree was stubborn, and had slept under worse conditions. Waking up every hour was nothing, really.

He’s already awake when the fourth one goes off at 5am. This one ran on batteries, and resided in one of the drawers in the bedside table. The kindest one, as McCree didn’t have to physically get up to turn it off. A small blessing in this hell his boyfriend submitted him to.

6 o’clock in the morning, thirteen different alarm clocks sounded off all at once. While the noise was absolutely deafening, and seemed to echo through McCree’s entire world, he laid motionless in his bed with his eyes closed. He already knew where Genji had hidden these ones; the panels of the ceiling vibrated and shook from the clocks and they were spread evenly throughout the room.

Forty minutes had passed by the time McCree had a quiet, soundless ceiling. Going back to sleep at that point was fruitless, as his original alarm would have awaken him twenty minutes from then. He scrubbed a hand over his face with a weary sigh and then gathered his things for a shower, glaring at the pile of clocks on his floor as he does.

 

)(

 

McCree had gone back and forth between going through with this plan or rethinking it. In the end, he had done it impulsively and in the last minute so his internal debate would cease. It was worth it – all completely worth it – when the door to the bathroom opened and Genji stepped out. The gunslinger’s face broke out into a large smile, but Genji’s expression did not change. Nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, and his lips pressed into a hard line, the cyborg was not affected by McCree’s usually infectious grin.

His hair was purple.

_Neon_ purple. Not the soft, pastel green Genji originally used to touch up his roots. _Neon purple._

“Howdy,” McCree said, trying very hard not to laugh. Genji’s frown hardened. “Lookin’ good, darlin’.”

Finally, Genji opened his mouth to suck in a deep breath – obviously wanting nothing more than to _scream_ at the cowboy – but the only thing that he could manage was a soft, firm, “ _Jesse . . ._ “

 

)(

 

The bathroom in their bunk was small, and even McCree’s quick showers were enough to fill the entire room with steam in little as two minutes. He looked at the fogged-up mirror, and then around the bathroom to find another towel to clear a off spot. He settled for using the discarded t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier and cursed at the glass when the water streaked. This was routine, which was disappointing in itself. After all these years of having his beard, he had never made trimming it easier for himself, never learned to shave _before_ he made it impossible to see.

With a circle relatively wiped down and reflective, McCree set to work. The can of shaving cream was new, so he didn’t worry about conserving his supply. That happened when he reached half a can.

Half of his face was covered in it by the time he noticed the smell. That it _had_ a distinct smell to begin with. McCree stared down at the white substance in his hands, wondering if shaving cream had the capability of even going bad, because the _smell_ was horrific. He checked the can as best as he could without touching it, and sure enough it was the same brand Genji had been picking up for him since –

McCree’s jaw set in understanding. _Genji goddamn Shimada._

He stepped out of the bathroom in only a towel, hands and face covered in white. The cyborg himself seemed to be waiting for him, sprawled across their bed with McCree’s pillow held close to his chest. He looked quite pleased with himself, smug little smile nearly as bright as his still-glowing purple hair.

“This ain’t shaving cream,” McCree stated in way of demanding an explanation.

Genji’s brow rose in feigned surprise. “Oh, _shaving cream_? I thought you said _sour scream_.”

Sour cream.

McCree pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth in an effort to stop himself from gagging. It felt like his body was trying to recoil from his own skin; his shoulders hitched up a bit higher and he held his hands farther away from himself. It was _warm_ and it was on his _face_ and he wanted to _yell_.

“I just – how did you even reseal the can?”

 

)(

 

The thing was, McCree had definitely not expected this one to work. When he’d done it, he had thought the only thing that would come from it was mild irritation. Definitely not _this_.

Genji had fallen onto the couch in the Suite around mid-afternoon, tossing his visor off with the intentions of a comfortable nap. These were essential in Genji’s life, and McCree had learned to leave him be until he woke up himself. He was blessed with a somewhat normal sleep schedule, whereas the cyborg just wasn’t. Genji had a hard time falling asleep at night – apparently a poor habit from his youth – and their work called for an early rising. In order to get a healthy amount of sleep, he was forced to take naps throughout the day whenever he could find the time.

McCree honestly couldn’t say what made him think of it, or why he even had a permanent marker handy. It just felt like all the planets had aligned to make this moment happen, and he certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He drew the nose first, an upside-down triangle that had six lines sprouting from it, three on each side. It was crude, but the resemblance to what he was going for was uncanny.

Genji began to stir before McCree could finish admiring his handiwork. He shifted around on the couch until he was on his back, each movement warranting a sleepy, aggravated huff. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows by the time he noticed his audience, regarding McCree’s fond, amused little smile with a flat look of his own.

“Afternoon, darlin’.” The playful greeting earned him an unhappy grunt. He passed off the faceplate in what he hoped was a casual gesture, and Genji took it from him with no qualms.

He expected him to turn it over in his hands, to check it for anything out of the ordinary. McCree himself had become prone to checking anything he came into contact with for the past few weeks. The show of trust when Genji secured his visor without a thought made a spark of guilt burn in his chest, but the sight of the drawn-on face coupled with the cat ear-like extensions on his helmet had him widening his eyes.

“What?” The cyborg asked, voice sleepy. He cocked his head with the question, and McCree was still too shocked to even _think_ about how adorable he looked.

McCree schooled his expression, trying to replicate the smile he wore earlier. “Nothin’, sweetpea. Just struck with how beautiful you look when you first wake up, s’all.”

The light of Genji’s visor flickered, a tell that he had narrowed his eyes. The gunslinger watched him take stock of himself quickly, and then the entire room after he couldn’t find anything out of place.

“Better get goin’,” he said before Genji could catch on. “Winston wanted to have a word with me about some recon or somethin’ or other.” He was watched carefully as he stood and placed his hat on his head. McCree held on to his act of ignorance. “Best not keep him waiting.”

 

)(

 

Back when he had been younger and still lived in Santa Fe with his mother, McCree lived in a house with normal, wooden doors. They were much different than the hydraulic sliding doors most modern buildings were equipped with, and for obvious reason. They were harder to break into, they looked better, and they were _quieter_. That’s what always struck McCree about them; you couldn’t slam a hydraulic door. There was just something about a door flinging open and a raging mother standing before it as it smashed off the wall. Or slamming it shut after a screaming match with the person behind it.

McCree often thought Genji would live happy in a house with old doors – as dramatic as he was – because the gentle hiss and the mechanical _woosh_ just didn’t have the effect he seemed to be going for.

“Jesse,” he started, after several long seconds of just staring at the cowboy.

He couldn’t help himself at that point, not to the grin growing on his face or to asking, “What’s new, pussycat?” As if he had no idea what Genji could even be angry about.

“ _Jesse_ ,” he said again, more forceful. “I spoke to people like this. I spoke _professionally_ to people like this. You allowed me to leave this room looking like this.” He paused, shaking his head. “Torbjörn was the one who informed me.”

A bark of laughter erupted from McCree and he pressed a hand to his chest, like the idea itself was just too much. “Oh _no._ ”

“Oh _yes_ ,” Genji hissed. “Do you have any idea how long it took for people to stop referring to these – “ he points to the fins of his helmet, “ – as cat ears? Including you?”

McCree chuckled again. “Well, I think we can safely say I never stopped thinkin’ they were cat ears, kitten.”

“Enough.” He reached back to disengage the locks holding the visor in place, and then held it out for McCree to take once it was removed. “Fix this. At once.”

McCree grabbed it with no argument. “Yessir.”

From the small bathroom within the Suite, he retrieved the rubbing alcohol and a small washcloth. Genji was waiting for him on the couch when he returned, arms crossed and face stern. McCree thought he still looked pretty cute.

“Can we be done with this now?” He asked, settling back down to get to work.

“Done with what? With you?” Genji tossed his head up with a scoff. “I am thinking about it.”

“I meant be done with this dumb war we got goin’ on,” McCree explained, ignoring the empty threat. “I miss you bein’ my boyfriend and _not_ my worst enemy.”

Genji watched him from the corner of his eye and made a reluctant noise. “Ending it now would imply that you have beaten me.”

“ _Or_ , we could call it a draw and forget about the whole thing.” When the cyborg seemed unconvinced, McCree put everything he had into a pout. “Please?”

He handed Genji back his faceplate, now clean of any cat-like faces. The cyborg took it with another hesitant hum, examining it and McCree closely. “Very well,” he said finally. “We may be done.”

With a victorious smile, the cowboy leaned in for a quick kiss. “Appreciate it, darlin’.”

 

)(

 

The next morning was a Sunday. Breakfast went as it always did, and the coffee Genji made him was salt-free. His shower had gone normally, and the quick shave he did after was with actual shaving cream. McCree had had his doubts, but the cyborg proved he was officially over the entire prank war.

He exited the bathroom fully dressed, pleased to see Genji still puttering around the room instead of the Suite across the hall. They were going to leave together, McCree having agreed to an early morning spar – which meant he was letting Genji toss him around the mat so he could outshoot him in the range afterward.

McCree found his serape where he’d left it the night before, tossed onto the chair in the corner of the room over his hat. With practiced finesse, the fabric was draped over his shoulders perfectly on the first try and he reached out for the finishing touch, only to freeze in the middle of doing so. The hat left sitting on the chair was not one he recognized, to say the least. It was bright pink, made of cheap felt material, and had plastic jewels embroidered across the brim.

Definitely not his hat.

A familiar body pressed up against his back, their arms wrapping around his waist. The cowboy could _not_ look away from this hat to enjoy it. It was like his entire universe shifted –  there was nothing else in existence besides him and this atrocious monstrosity of a hat.

McCree felt Genji’s smug, little smile in the kiss he pressed to his cheek. “ _Now_ we can be done.”

**Author's Note:**

> kaya is the scabbard for a katana and daishō is the term used for the swords Genji uses (I hope????) 
> 
> anyway yikes am I right??? have a lovely valentines day, my dudes!


End file.
